Hot Rod by Sabrina York
A standard witness protection mission goes wrong, thrusting Matt Savage and his
target, a wise-cracking hooker named Vixen LaFleur, into a fight for their
lives. But flying bullets and lurking villains are not nearly as dangerous as
risking the heart. Against his will, Matt is attracted to the dauntless,
exasperating woman he’s supposed to be protecting, but she is harboring a
secret. One that could heal his wounded soul, or crush it.

READ AN EXCERPT!

He and Vixen arrived at the cabin first, which was annoying
because Ace and Coop were supposed to have arrived first to clear the area, and
also because he was damn tired of being alone with her—gum popping and all. So,
after he cleared the interior of the cabin and before he carried her luggage
and the groceries into the place, he told her to sit tight while he did a
perimeter check.

To his annoyance, when he glanced back at the cabin, she was
watching him through the window. Clearly visible. Hell, her shiny blonde curls
were like a beacon in the gloom.

She might as well be wearing a target and singing an aria.

He stormed back onto the porch, threw open the door and
bellowed, “Are you crazy?”

For some reason, his totally logical question seemed to
surprise her. Those doe-like eyes widened and her lips parted. It took some
effort, but he ignored all that and focused on her response. “What?”

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He stomped over to the window and
yanked the curtains closed. “You know someone wants to kill you. You know the
area hasn’t been checked. Why on earth would you stand there in full view?”

For some reason, his fury lit the fuse on hers. Her eyes narrowed
and her fingers closed into fists. “How dare you yell at me for that?”

“I’m not yelling.” More like a howl.

She marched over to him and confronted him, toe to toe, nose
to nose. Or nose to chest. She was short, after all. “It’s your fucking job to
keep me safe. If you need me to do or not do something, you have to tell me.
I’m not a fucking psychic.”

“Okay, missy. How’s this for clear direction? Keep the fuck
out of sight. At least until we are sure the area is safe. And hell, even then.
In fact, just go to your room and stay there.”

“Fuck you, Jarhead.”

“I already fucking told you, I was not a fucking Marine.” He
didn’t know why he was letting her get the better of him. He never lost his
temper, and he never spewed profanities like this…but her attitude was fucking
pissing him off.

He wanted to turn her over his knee and wallop her bottom—

Oh. Fuck.

It scalded him, the sudden lust that blazed through his
veins.

And suddenly, he lost the reins.

Though he knew better, though he knew he shouldn’t, though
he knew it was insane, he grabbed her shoulders, yanked her against him and
kissed her.

It was savage and harsh. A punishment, really, and while one
part of him was mortified at this effort to dominate her in a physical way, to
show her, once and for all who was boss, another part of him liked it. Loved
it. Squirmed in delight.

She tasted sweet. Her mouth was soft, velvety. Her lips were
lush pillows. Her body, sealed to his, was like an armful of heaven. It was a
scalding moment of exquisite pleasure, especially when she softened, and kissed
him back.

But then, he should have known. He should have suspected she
was hardly the kind of woman who allowed such liberties without her pound of
flesh.

Her knee—and a particularly bony one as it happened—came up quick
and hard, connecting with his tender bits.

The air whooshed from his lungs and painful shards of light
blinded him as agony raked him. He tightened his hold on her, but only to keep
himself from falling to the floor in a writhing lump of misery. He held her and
shook as he recovered himself. And then, he released her. Stepped back and gave
her some space. Gave himself some as well.

Hell, he deserved that.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. “I apologize,” he said.
Nearly a croak.

To his annoyance, she smirked. “No need to apologize,” she
said. “Just be aware that if you ever touch me again, next time, when I unman
you, it’ll be with a knife.”

Funny thing, he totally believed her.

And he vowed to himself never to touch her again.

Oh, not because of her utterly un-veiled threat. But because
he’d enjoyed that kiss—that fraction of a second when she’d kissed him back—way
more than he should have.

No doubt about it. She was a dangerous woman.

If he wanted to emerge from this mission unscathed, he
needed to keep his hands, and his lips, to himself.

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and
USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy
readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance. Visit her
webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Former
Delta Force team leader Grey Holden came from a long line of military who
believed the important thing was getting the job done, not your ego. They
called themselves Omega Men. Athena Madero, left the police department angry at
all the restrictions she faced as she tried to fight crime. They collided,
literally, when both were working a covert investigation, the resolution of
which resulted in the birth of The Omega Team. Others will join them as the
agency expands its scope of activities, everything from hostage negotiation to
hostage rescue to industrial espionage to fighting drug cartels to threats to
national security. They will be led by Grey and Athena, whose passion for their
work is only rivaled by their passion for each other. Welcome to a series that
combines high danger with intense passion and heady romance. Are you ready to play?

Raw Edge of Danger

Grey Holden was on a mission
to find the source of illegal arms. The death of his best friend on a
compromised mission left him filled with anger and dedicated to bringing down
whoever was responsible. Athena Madero had her own mission, to take down a
major politician who had been preying on young girls for a long time. She hated
him enough to quit her job as a cop and go on her own hunt for evidence. When
she and Grey crossed paths, chemistry sparked and suddenly, unexpectedly, shockingly,
there was a lot more between them than searching for evidence and pinning down
a traitor. In a split second, they were riding the raw edge of danger.

Mission
Control

Krista (Kris) Gauthier and
Mason Rowell are like oil and water from the moment they meet. He never
expected the team from Mission Control, the security agency made up of former
military, to send a woman to lead the team he hired to fix his problem: find
out who is helping smugglers cross his land from the border. Their antagonism is
only heightened by the sexual attraction that keeps blazing out of control.
Neither of them is happy about the fact they keep falling into bed together and
Mason, who values his unattached existence, can’t wait for the team to be
finished and Kris to be gone. But when the bad guys are identified and caught
and Kris is wounded in the process, the thought of losing her nearly destroys
him, and makes him take another look at their relationship.

Lethal Design

Someone is putting a kink in Shannon McRae’s very orderly life.
The video games she designs aren’t about electronic battles or gory crimes. Her
projects include team building exercises for executives. It’s bad enough she’s
plagues with possessions moved out of place, flat tires, strangers following
her at night. But most importantly, someone is messing with her current
project, corrupting the file so she has to rework it over and over. When
activities escalate Athena Madero, decides it’s a case for the top security and
protection agency The Omega Team, which she owns with her partner with Grey
Holden. Owen Cormier has been isolated emotionally most of his adult life.
Twelve years fighting wars haven’t made him warm and fuzzy. Then he discovers
his new client is the one night stand he could never get out of his mind. When
the case is over, will he just be able to walk away?

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Mike Lyons’ pride was his success as a
SEAL. Focused, driven, he put duty first…until an IED changed all that. Rebecca
Tierney was the woman he always left behind…until he had to protect her from creeps
who would rob her of her life.

THE LION, OMEGA TEAM, Crossover to
Scorpian, SEALed Securities, Inc.

Former SEAL Mike
Lyons goes to work locking down bad dudes, State-side, for the Omega Team. His PTSD is his biggest
enemy but he’s doing an A1 job….

Until Grey Holden
of Omega assigns him to protect the
woman Mike has always left behind. Mike’s on point for the mission but questions if Rebecca
Tierney will give him a crack at a happily-ever-after.

Becka nixed hope
for any long-term relationship with Mike long ago. Too bad she’s never been
able to nix her love for him. When he shows up and carries her away Tarzan-style,
she’s determined to chill.

But old habits die
hard.

Even though mixing
business with pleasure would be the worst thing they could do.

The
shop door snapped open. The bells above the frame rang in an awful clatter.

And
in walked Mikael Lyons.

Becka
laughed. Am I dreaming?

But
she wasn’t.

Mike
stood, surveying the art gallery like a man with a mission. Focused, pointed,
his gaze swept the large display floor jammed with furniture and paintings,
sculpture and china, ancient, modern, all of it fit only for the upper
one-percent’s purchase.

She
shot from her chair. What was he doing
here?

She
hadn’t seen him since they’d argued and parted last summer after that summary
meeting in the State Department. Days after the end of their Paris job. The end of our two-month affair.

She
sucked in a breath, wrestling with her memories of how scrumptious The Lion had
been as her lover. Instead, she zeroed in on what had happened to him after
he’d left her on the sidewalk last summer holding pieces of her heart in her
hands. His grandmother had notified her the day she’d gotten word of his
injuries in Afghanistan. The elderly lady had faithfully kept her up-to-date
about his wounds, his hospitalizations, his PTSD. Oh, but he looked so good
now. The shock of sun-kissed hair, streaked with bronze and gold. The enormous
shoulders tucked into a steel gray suit that fit his broad chest and powerful
arms like a well-tailored glove. The height, six-four or more. Comforting to
stand next to. Maddening beautiful. A little thinner than when they’d rolled
around in bed together last July before they returned Stateside and he’d left
for the mission that changed his life.

His
neon blue gaze locked on hers. A ghost of a smile crossed his chiseled lips.
And then he moved. Like quicksilver, he wove through the maze of furniture. His
stride was long. His goal clear. He’d come for her.

Why?

Why
now?

Today?

Panicked,
she remembered the flash drive. The green bar on the screen moved an iota more.
Almost done.

Mike
rounded the doorway to her office. Up close he looked pained. But furious. At
her? Really? What had she done?

“Come
with me,” he said in that bass voice that reverberated inside her like the roar
of the huge male lion at the Washington zoo. He could say her name and her
insides got all mushy. With that voice torrid in her ear, he could tell her
fairy tales and she’d believe in Hansel and Gretel and reindeer that flew
because stars always exploded when he was near.

“What
are you doing here?” she asked him, confused. He’d stormed away from her last
summer, warning her yet again that he might not return. And he’d been
prophetic, coming home from the mission to Kandahar badly wounded.

“I’ll
tell you. But you have to come with me now.”

“Where?
Why?” She shot a glance at her drive. Done!
She grasped it and yanked it from the computer. Then she dropped it in her
skirt pocket.

“Can’t
explain. Need you to walk out with me.”

“No.”
If she did that, if she stayed with him for more than five minutes, she’d hop
into bed for a damn luscious lay—and then he’d be gone again. Messing up her
life. Always. “Never.”

He
winced, bared his teeth and shook his head. “Either you come quietly or I take
you.”

She
seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Right
now? I’m the guy who’s saving your pretty ass. So come quietly or you won’t
like what happens.”

“No?”
She folded her arms and glared at him. “Well, now hear this—“

“No
time.” He stepped forward, hauled her into his massive arms and anchored her
head with one meaty hand. “Kiss me, baby. Like there’s no tomorrow.”

There never has been. “You’re crazy if—“

“Crazy
is my forte,” he crooned, turning her so her back was to the shop floor. And
then he crushed his mouth to hers.

She
was gone to heaven. His lips were hot as August, his demand heavy and urgent.
She loved him rough and ready. She loved him tender and teasing. She loved him
and part of her wanted to linger here, kiss him back, forget why he came and
destroyed her. Again.

She
pushed at his chest.

Why bother? With a man this freaking size,
what woman had a chance? Not me. Never me
with this man.

He
pressed his thumb over her swollen lips. “Look like you want me. Hate me, but
want me.”

Like that wasn’t the truth.

“Listen
to me, Becka. Fast. You have documents?”

“What?”

“Documents?
Sensitive?”

“Y-yes.
How do you know?

“Tell
you later. I’m assigned to help you.”

“Like
we did in Paris?”

“Exactly
like.”

“I
have them.” She sidled closer to him, whispering, “On me. But I’m not going
with you, Mike. Every time I do, I get myself in a helluva bind. I won’t do it
again.”

He
took her by her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “I have no time to
argue with you. There’s a gunman out there. Maybe headed this way.”

Her
jaw dropped. But her old Langley training kicked in. “What’s going on?”

“Dunno.”

“But—""Okay
then.” He picked her right up off her feet and hauled her over his shoulder.
“We’ll do this my way.”

One hand to her ass, he pivoted and
threaded his graceful way double-time through the tables and chaises, the
mirrors and marbles.

As
he passed Vince, her boss, and the senator, he said, “Thanks, got what I came
for.”

“Rebecca?”
Vince followed behind Mike.

She
glimpsed his feet tracking her. She tried to raise her head, but all she could
do was watch the beautiful muscular play of Mikael Lyons’ fabulous glutes. She
suppressed the urge to laugh and indulged the need to bitch. “I’m fine, Vince.
I know Superman, here. He’s harmless as a pussy cat.”

“For
that,” Mike growled when they were on the sidewalk and he ran up Wisconsin Avenue
with her ingloriously over his shoulder, “you will pay.”

Saturday, February 13, 2016

They called him “Lucky,” but he had hidden injuries nobody knew about. Plagued by headaches and living nightmares, Paul, Lord Sherstone returns from the field of Waterloo to London to find a wife he doesn’t know and an estate he has to manage. He daren’t let her close, even though he is falling in love with her all over again.

Married and abandoned in a month, Hetty learned to manage a large estate and fend off would-be lovers, but a threat emerges much closer to home and from an unexpected place. In need of help she turns to Paul but since his return he has only shut her out. Refusing to give up on the man she fell in love with five years ago, Hetty has to persuade her husband to let her into his bed—and his heart. http://www.amazon.com/Dreaming-Waterloo-Regency-Lynne-Connolly-ebook/dp/B01AQ1PCFA

Friday, February 12, 2016

A writer's
convention at a haunted hotel gives author Jordan Kyle the perfect chance
to do research for her next book. While ghost hunting through the century-old
halls, she never expects to really find one. But when her sleep is filled with
erotic dreams and the starring sex god shows up in the lobby the next day,
she's not sure if he's real or a ghost with otherworldly desires.

Pragmatic cyber
security consultant Aiden Flannery only believes in what he can see and hear
and touch. But his dreams are invaded by a sexy redhead and her seductive peach
scent tantalizes him by day. He catches the merest glimpse of her
everywhere he goes then she's gone, like a whisper in the wind.

Are there
supernatural forces at work? Or is it their imagination? They only know,
whether awake or asleep, these ghostly seductions are hot, hot, hot and
they want more.

A writer's convention at a haunted hotel
gives author Jordan Kyle the perfect chance to do research for her next
book. While ghost hunting through the century-old halls, she never expects to
really find one. But when her sleep is filled with erotic dreams and the
starring sex god shows up in the lobby the next day, she's not sure if he's
real or a ghost with otherworldly desires.

Excerpt:

She’d barely dozed off when her nose twitched at the tease of
sandalwood in the air, and she felt someone caress her arm. Her eyes flew open,
and she started to scream, but a lean, masculine finger pressed against her
lips.

“Ssh,” he cautioned. “Don’t want to wake your friend.” He
held out his hand. “Come with me.”

It was him! Mr. Sexy, with the thick black hair and the
tantalizing scent. Holy crap. He wore a soft-collared shirt and slacks molded
to his exquisite physique.

A slight chill in the air wrapped itself around her but then
dissipated almost at once. Jordan knew she should protest, but every cell in
her body urged her to rise and go with him. He’d barely touched her, yet
already her nipples were hard and tingling and the pulse between her thighs was
thumping a demanding rhythm. She stared up at him, struck dumb.

“What— Who— What’s—” Apparently, she’d become totally
incoherent.

He winked and took her hand. “Come with me. We need some
privacy.”

As if she’d lost any will of her own, Jordan folded the
covers back and let him tug her from the bed. Silently, they crept out of the
room. Funny, she didn’t even hear the door open or the lock click back in place.
Then they were across the hall in what was obviously his room. The door was
barely shut before he pulled her into his arms. His lips a mere inch from hers,
he tunneled one hand through her hair to clasp her head in place and slowly
lowered his mouth to hers.

At first, the kiss was soft, playful, a wisp of a caress,
teasing at her senses. He moved his lips back and forth across hers, like the
brush of a butterfly’s wings. Then the tip of his tongue came out to trace the
closed seam, tickle at the corners, and finally prod her mouth to open for him.
When his tongue swept inside, a flame blazed throughout her body. He licked
every inch of her mouth, sliding over her teeth and the inside of her lips.

She trembled in his arms, clutching at him to keep herself
steady as the kiss went on and on. When he finally lifted his head, she was
breathless, her legs shaking, all from a mere kiss.

“You taste every bit as good as I imagined.” His voice was
husky, raw with need.

“You, too.” She licked her lips, relishing the completely
male flavor of him.

“I can’t wait to get my mouth on the rest of you.”

He slid one hand up and down her back in a slow caress,
fingers dancing along her spine and sliding down enough to cup her ass.
Lowering his head again, he trailed a line of kisses along her jaw and down her
neck, pausing at the hollow of her throat to circle the pulse beating there
with the tip of his tongue before moving to the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Shivers skated over her skin, and her pulse ramped up a notch.

With the bright moonlight streaming through the window, she
could see how dark his eyes were, with tiny flecks of gray. His hair felt as
thick and silky as it looked, and the scent of sandalwood enveloped her,
teasing her senses. She lifted her hands tentatively and stroked them over his
high cheekbones and along the line of his square jaw. Thick eyelashes and brows
softened the hardness of his face.

As she stared at him, trying to memorize every plane and
angle, he lifted her in his arms in one smooth movement and carried her to the
big four poster bed in the middle of the room. Grazing one more kiss across her
lips, he gathered the material of her sleep shirt in both hands and eased the
garment up and over her head. Heat flashed in his eyes as he took in the entire
naked length of her. The impact of his gaze sent shivers sliding over her skin.
Her breasts ached for his touch, and the steady beat between her thighs sent
out a note of urgency. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so aroused so quickly
with any other man.

She wanted his hands on her, his mouth, his body hard against
hers. His cock inside her. She was sure she would instantly combust if he
didn’t do more than just look at her.

He cupped her breasts in his palms, his hands cold against
her skin for just an instant then suddenly scorching hot, warming her blood.
Pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger, he tugged gently on them.
Heat streaked directly to her core, and a soft moan drifted from her lips. As
if trying to capture the sound, Mr. Sexy pressed his mouth to hers again, this
time a full, open-mouthed assault on her senses. His very talented tongue
whisked over the nerves in her palate and gums, licking gently as he kneaded
her breasts and scraped his nails lightly over her taut buds.

She clutched his biceps to steady herself, vaguely aware of
their hard, sculptured feel. The heat of his body seeped into hers, ramping up
her internal temperature even more. When he lowered his head to take one nipple
into his mouth, she gasped with pleasure. His wicked tongue circled the hard
bud, and his teeth scraped gently over the pebbled surface. She moaned again
and arched into the hot grasp of his mouth.

Desiree
Holt has produced more than two hundred titles in nearly every subgenre of
romance fiction. She has won the EPIC Award for action/adventure, the Authors
After Dark Award for Author of he Year, The Holt Medallion and been featured on
CBS Sunday Morning and in The (London) Daily Mail, The Daily Beast, The Village
Voice, US News and World Report and The Huffington Post, to name a few. Her
stories are enriched by her personal experiences, her characters by the people
she meets. After fifteen ears in the great state of Texas she
relocated back to Florida to be closer to members of her family and a large
collection of friends. Her favorite pastimes are watching football, reading,
and researching her stories.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Daniel Sinclair is
a broken man with wounds that are physical and spiritual. He’s weighed down by
grief and guilt that he could not save his friend, Graeme Lennox, and is
convinced that a French lance left him less than a man. He has no prospects.
Nothing left but his tarnished honor. But then he meets a vexing boy who makes
him question even that.

Fia
Lennox’s world turned on its end with her brother’s death. She’s gone in one
fell swoop from lady to servant…to a woman on the run. The world is a dangerous
place for a woman alone—even when she is masquerading as a boy—so when she
meets up with a strong, valiant ex-cavalryman, she decides to become his
traveling companion. Whether he likes it or not.

Battling
villains, would-be-friends and their own finely-forged battlements, Fia
and Daniel rush toward their destiny, a scorching passion and,
hopefully, redemption. Can love conquer all? Even the ghosts of the past?

Daniel
tipped his face up to the sky and grinned. The sun was shining and the breeze
was mild. The sky was blue and tufted with fat white clouds. It was a lovely
day to travel—it could have been raining, could have been cold. But since he’d
set out from London, on this lengthy journey to Inverness, each day had been
prettier than the last.

His
mood had improved too. He was swamped with the conviction that he’d done the
right thing, leaving his haven. As much as he appreciated his position at the
club, he’d allowed himself to sink into it, into the rut of it. He’d allowed
himself to wallow in his woes.

There
was no wallowing on the road; there simply wasn’t time for it.

It
was energizing to be traveling again, invigorating to be out in the world,
breathing fresh air and going
somewhere. He enjoyed the solitude, the quiet, the absence of need to make
conversation.

That
left him alone with his thoughts, his regrets, his guilt, but such specters had
haunted him for so long, they were like old companions. He wouldn’t know who he
was without them.

Aye.
This was far more healing than any medicine—the power of his mount between his
thighs, the kiss of warmth on his face, the movement. Surprisingly, his leg
hardly pained him at all, except when he moved suddenly. In fact, it even felt
better after several days of riding. He hadn’t fallen off his horse once.

Hunnam
was in good form as well. No doubt he’d enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to
prance once again. An hour’s exercise a day was one thing, but for a Scots
Grey, the chance to run and run wild spoke to his soul.

It
spoke to Daniel’s too, so he put his heels to his mount’s sides and gave him
his head.

And
it was glorious.

He
hadn’t realized how closed up he’d allowed himself to become. How isolated. He
hadn’t realized how much he’d allowed his injury—and his guilt—to shrink his
horizons.

Well,
his horizons weren’t limited now. They spread before him in a verdant green
wash that stretched as far as the eye could see. He passed a loch and paused to
admire the sparkling waters, to watch an osprey swoop down to snatch a hapless
fish.

And
damn, but it was a fine thing to be back in Scotland. Daniel hadn’t realized
just how much he’d missed hearing the lilt of his own brogue, or tasting a
well-made haggis. The Brits didn’t care for haggis, a fact he’d never quite
understood. When created by someone who knew what they were doing, it was
delicious. And Scottish innkeepers, apparently, knew what they were doing. Or
their wives did.

There
was no doubt about it, he’d probably gained a stone since crossing the border
to his homeland. He’d never felt so vibrant and alive. And while he had enjoyed
the occasional chat with a fellow countryman, he had never enjoyed his own
company more. There was something about being alone with one’s thoughts that
was very peaceful. It allowed a man to explore his soul at leisure without
interruptions. It allowed a man to process all that had happened in his life.
To put everything in the place it belonged. Though he still had several days of
travel, at most a week, he was already lamenting the journey’s end.

After
he passed the Kinclaven Crossroads, the landscape changed from fields and farms
to orchards. The looming trees shaded the road in a lacy pattern; the scent of
crisp apples filled the air, tempting Daniel to reach up and pluck one for a
taste.

He
did not. That would be stealing and he was a man of honor.

He
pulled back on Hunnam’s reins when he spotted a white mare standing in the
road. She was difficult to miss. Her lines were exquisite, her saddle and tack
were the finest…but she had no rider. His brow wrinkled as he rode closer. No
one would ever abandon such a fine horse. It was—

“Blast.”

The
imprecation came from the leafy tree next to which the mare stood.

Daniel
glanced up; the boughs riffled. An apple fell to the ground.

The
mare whinnied and walked over to it, lipping up the treat.

Another
apple fell and the horse made short work of that one was well.

“Stop
eating them all,” the tree said. “Save some for me.”

Daniel
cleared his throat. It seemed prudent to make himself known. “Hullo?”

The
leaves rustled and a face peered out. Enormous blue-green eyes stared at him.
Something flickered through them. Something that could have been construed
as…guilt.

Daniel
frowned. “What are you doing up there?” he asked.

The
eyes blinked. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”
He drummed his fingers on his saddle. “Are you stealing apples?”

The
chagrined expression on that elfin face was nearly whimsical. “Is this your
orchard?”

“Indeed
it is not.”

An
entrancing, mischievous smile blossomed and the thief tossed him a fat red
apple. “Then catch.”

He
did not. He did not catch. The apple bounced off his pate.

“Oh
really,” an amused voice echoed from above. “Let’s try again.”

“Let’s
not.”

Too
late. Another apple flew in his direction. He missed it again. It fell to the
ground and Hunnam gobbled it up.

“Sir,
you are supposed to catch them.”

“I
doona care to abet you in your thievery—” Another missile flew. By the grace of
God, he caught this one. “Please stop throwing stolen apples at me.” It was
large and red and shiny and looked delicious. Aside from that, it smelled quite
tantalizing. As he felt he had earned it, he polished it on his lapel and took
a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and juice dribbled down his chin. They
were excellent apples.

The
face disappeared, followed by more rustling. A satchel fell to the loam with a
soft thud. Then a pair of feet appeared. Legs. Slim hips. Slender shoulders and
then a mop of tousled black curls.

A
boy dropped to the ground with an oof. He looked up at Daniel, his head tipped
saucily to the side, and then he grinned. It was a rakish grin. “Not stealing,”
he said. “Borrowing.”

This
he said with such conviction, Daniel had to struggle not to laugh. This was no
laughing matter. Thieves ended up in the gaol. “Ah. Borrowing. Surely you won’t
mind explaining that to him.” Daniel nodded to the distance, where a farmer was
running through the trees toward them, arms flailing.

The
boy’s eyes widened. He picked up the satchel and hefted it over his shoulder.
Then he bounded into the saddle and shot a glance back at Daniel. His grin was
wicked as he urged his mount forward…leaving Daniel behind to explain to the
farmer why his apples were missing.